“One is never over or under dressed in a little black dress.” – Karl Lagerfield 

We take it for granted, but the “Little Black Dress” was not always a thing. Believe it or not, the LBD is a fairly recent fashion invention. Women of today accept it as a staple of the modern woman’s wardrobe, but the history of the little black dress is less than 100 years old.

Image: Vintage Style via Shutterstock

The Birth of the Little Black Dress

The LBD has a relatively short history in the history of fashion. It was Coco Chanel who first created the LBD in the 1920s. Chanel’s creation, which first appeared in Vogue magazine in 1926, was a deceptively simple drop-waist sheath dresses in black. It quickly became “the” dress for ’20s flappers.

Prior to this period black clothing was a symbol of mourning (made popular during the Victorian era) and most women would not have worn black except in mourning. Chanel, inspired by the peasant widows of World War I, elevated the black dress into a chic and elegant piece. Chanel also marketed the dress as “the dress” that every woman should own for its versatility and practicality. It was this notion that led its to staying power–the Great Depression made frugality a necessity for many.

Image: Film Noir via Shutterstock

The Next Chapter for the LBD: “New Look” and the Era of Hollywood Glamour

The LBD had a new life under the Christian Dior’s post World War II “New Look” and under the new influence of Hollywood glamour. The utilitarian necessity of the Depression era LBD was a thing of the past, but Dior and Hollywood reinvigorated the LBD and made it the dress of choice for Hollywood divas and temptresses. Stars like Rita Hayworth and Ava Gardner, both of whom epitomized the femme fatale in film noir, added to the glamorous image of the LBD.

Image: Inspired by Breakfast at Tiffany’s via Shutterstock

“Breakfast At Tiffany’s”: Audrey Hepburn and Givenchy

When one thinks of the LBD in film, Audrey Hepburn may be first to come to mind. She and Hubert de Givenchy made the LBD of the 1960s a cultural icon. His “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” design is easily counted amongst the most iconic movie dresses of all time (with only Marilyn Monroe’s white “Seven Year Itch” dress being more well known) and easily the most famous little black dress.

It was this design that cemented the LBD as fashion royalty. The timeless style will forever denote polished sophistication (at least until the next fashion icon comes along).

Image: LBD via University of Salford

The Little Black Dress of Today

Whether long or short, the little black dress is now a staple in most every woman’s closet. It is appropriate to wear to work, while running errands, or out for the evening on the town, and, yes, it still works at funerals. The key to the occasion is in the design and the styling, of course. One can truly never go wrong with adding another little black dress to a wardrobe.

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Top Image: Little Black Dress via Shutterstock

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Look out: Leggings, the most reviled of Eighties garments are here to stay.

Saggy, slobby and sometimes scarily see-through, leggings are fashion’s unlikeliest heroes. When they reappeared on the scene in 2006 many women experienced uncomfortable 80s flashbacks and groaned at the thought of their return. And yet six years later, after a winter solid with leather look leggings, animal prints, floral and polka dot patterned versions adorn the legs of this fall’s mannequins. They show no sign of exiting the scene, in fact it seems we’re more attached than ever.

After DuPont created the earliest form of lycra in 1959, leggings became available to wear as trousers similar to the popular Capri pants favored by Mary Tyler Moore and Audrey Hepburn, but much, much tighter. But it was not until the fitness and aerobics craze in the very early 1980s that leggings made their way from the gyms and dance studios to the streets. The popularity of Cindy Lauper, Madonna and the movie Flashdance with teens brought them into the mainstream. Worn with skirts and mini dresses, under long shirts with slouchy socks and biker boots thru the early 90s, it’s no accident their current popularity coincides with the recent grunge revival.

So bad, they’re good on Debbie Harry in the late 70s.

Women remembering them from those earlier eras are right to be wary. Leggings are the ultimate in unforgiving, even on a good day. Designed to be tight and stretchy they draw attention to every part of your lower half. The eighties versions tended to go baggy around the knees and the seat, two areas nobody needs any extra sag.

Reassuringly, modern day lycra mixes are a lot higher and more stable than they used to be, but beyond design improvements, the question remains – why when they are so potentially unflattering, are we still wearing them?

Lace leggings worn by Madonna in the 80s.

True to their origins of keep fit, leggings are the ultimate pull-on-and-go garments. They can be tossed in the washing machine and dryer, they don’t need to be folded, let alone ironed – they are just so easy. What it boils down to is comfort. The fact is, no matter how much we love fashion, when it comes to our day-to-day clothing, most of us are wearing layers and leggings. And it’s not just us ladies, men’s leggings, dubbed “meggings” were introduced at last years spring/summer shows and are surprisingly catching on.

Russell Brand in his Sass & Bide “Meggings”

But how to avoid the dreaded sausage-in-too-tight-casing look? Aim not to think of them as trousers. Which means never ever wearing with a short or tight fitting top and, unless you are at least 5ft 10,” forget about the mid-calf length ones. No matter how much you are tempted, just say no.

On the other hand, a basic black ankle length version can quickly become your best friend. For the remainder of this season, try adding a pair under flowy dresses and shorts to give a rock ‘n’ roll vibe to lightweight summery pieces. Come fall, pair with this season’s oversized chunky knits and boots for a more mod approach.

With well-chosen items, the leggings are transformed into a stylish but still comfortable look

Want to catch up on some more fashion history?

Now & Then: The History of the Bikini

Now & Then: The History of the White Wedding Dress

Now & Then: The History of Shapewear

Now & Then: The History of the Ballet Flat

Now & Then: The History of the Breton Shirt

Now & Then: The History of the Pencil Skirt

Now & Then: The History of Skinny Jeans

Read more Now & Then articles here.

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It’s a perverse pleasure watching the characters in Mad Men smoke and drink away without any fear of consequence. With the days of the three-martini lunch well and truly over – say nothing for the disappearance of mid-century bar accoutrements like chrome smoking stands and Murano glass table lighters – it’s reassuring to know that while the cocktail hour might not be as much fun as it was, the spirit of the dress which was named for it remains intact.

The nip-waisted, full-skirted New Look silhouette pioneered by Christian Dior dominated cocktail fashions thru the 50s. Thankfully, the gloves and hat were soon replaced with a great pair of heels.

Born in the years after World War I, the emerging cocktail culture corresponded with sweeping social changes that led to the independent “modern woman” venturing out into more diverse groups of people mixing in clubs, lounges and private cocktail soirées. Bridging the gap between an afternoon dress – suitable for afternoon tea – and a grand gown for attending evening balls, came the transitional cocktail dress, knee length and worn until the late 1950s with elbow length gloves and flirty little hats.

Sparkling in Paco Rabanne’s futuristic gold paillettes, Audrey Hepburn in Two for the Road.

Favoring fine fabrics such as satin, silk, velvet and silk jersey – and after the success of Chanel’s little black dress a.k.a the LBD in 1926  –  the color black, the short, often tight-fitting cocktail dress quickly became a desired item of attire for all women in the 1930s. For those in the progressive and fashionable Cafe Society, it became a uniform.

Julia Roberts memorably went searching for a dress for a night out in Pretty Woman. “I got a dress,” she proudly tells Richard Gere. “A cocktail one.”

From its early realization and onwards – Christian Dior’s (Dior in fact coining the term “cocktail dress” in the late 40s) full-skirted New Look, Givenchy’s elegant renderings worn immaculately by Audrey Hepburn in the 1950s classic’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Sabrina, to Paco Rabanne’s swinging shifts in gold paillettes and Halston’s essential draped disco dress for Studio 54 – the silhouettes, like the partying habits, have changed with the decades. Whatever your poison, the pleasures of a bold dress in a flattering fit with a face framing neckline can be both intoxicating and life-affirming.

Modern day Bon Viveur: Kate Moss in a lace-panelled cocktail dress by John Galliano for Dior Couture.

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Now & Then: The History of the Chevron Stripe

Now & Then: The History of Penny Loafers

Now & Then: The History of Go-Go Boots

Now & Then: The History of the Poet Blouse

Now & Then: The History of Ladylike Gloves

The post Now & Then: The History of the Cocktail Dress appeared first on EcoSalon.

The pullover with a high collared neck still has a powerful allure that communicates, “I’m different.”

The Gap revived this imagery in their 2006 “Keep It Simple” Campaign.

More familiar to the British as a polo neck, English polo players first wore turtlenecks in the 1860s. Their adoption by Noel Coward in the 1920s turned turtlenecks into a middle-class fashion trend, and early feminists made them into a unisex item. Since the middle of the 20th century black polo necks have been identified as the uniform of radical academics, philosophers, artists and intellectuals.

Stone memorably paired a gray mock turtleneck from the Gap with a Valentino skirt and Armani jacket for the 1996 Oscars.

As an anti-tie, smart form of dress for those who reject formal wear, the turtleneck – also available in a simpler variant as a mock turtle neck – was surely a deliberate fashion choice made by Apple visionary, Steve Jobs. Communicating a desire to stand apart from others, his ubiquitous black turtleneck became an essential part of his uniform as the leader of those who think different.

Jil Sander Turtleneck Sweater, Céline Leather Strap Bag

Enjoying a revival this season, the winter staple was seen anchoring looks on the runways of Ralph Lauren, Celine and Jil Sander. A fantastic layering piece for when you want to wear dresses year round. They’re at their best worn with skinny jeans, slim fit trousers or a pencil skirt. In this age of so-called fashion democratization, the pullover with a high collared neck still has a powerful allure that communicates, “I’m different.”

ALSO READ:

Now & Then: The History Of The Cocktail Dress

Now & Then: The Trench Coat

Now & Then: The History of the Cuff

Now & Then: The History of Tights

Now & Then: The History of Skinny Jeans

Now & Then: The History of the Chevron Stripe

Now & Then: The History of Penny Loafers

Now & Then: The History of Go-Go Boots

Now & Then: The History of the Poet Blouse

Now & Then: The History of Ladylike Gloves

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QuoteDaily quotes at EcoSalon.

“The best thing to hold onto in this life is each other.” – Audrey Hepburn

Image: Samuel Peters

The post And the Rest, Lightly appeared first on EcoSalon.

An avant-garde hat lets its wearer travel back in time.

A flamboyant, two-tiered hat of black and shimmery emerald feathers has somehow flown into my life. I imagine the lively backstory of the Golightly lampshade – a copious chronicle of its madcap owner turning heads at Glide church or in the Venetian Room at the Fairmont before being sentenced to hang for 50 years in the legendary Mrs. Dewson’s Hats on Fillmore Street in San Francisco.

It was housed high up on a head form at the store, clearly outshined by an Easter parade of newly-sewn, pastel chapeaus, overwrought with fabric roses and bow adornments. It stirred in me a flurry of possible stories the way vintage discoveries both serious and frivolous stirred novelist Linda Grant, who penned the read about our relationship with fashion, The Thoughtful Dresser.

The high-heel red pump of a Polish woman; The felted quill headdress of a San Francisco church lady: Old relics capable of forging fresh awareness, if only we  let them.

I was seeking a costume hat for a King’s Speech-themed Oscar party when I hit the colorful haunt. Inspired by the romantic British glamor of the film, as well as Kate Middleton’s revival of the audacious topper as a royal statement, I sought a replica of the queen’s Ramillies style cocked hat with a feather. No dice, but as I was heading out, I looked up and was instantly mesmerized by the zany, tactile feather bucket.

“Hello, lover!”

“You talking to me?” asked the hat. “You talking to me?”

As it happened, I was also hunting props for a Sixties Rat Pack in Vegas gala also on my calendar. Anyone could see the accessory smacked of the iconic couture fashion pieces that once graced the covers of Harper’s. A hat an eye-lined Audrey surely would have modeled and a topper Lady Bird might have caged for a White House garden fete.

“May I see that black feathered hat?” I asked the kind, elderly clerk, who had already brought down a dozen boisterous Boatwright sister bonnets for me to explore, (to no avail mind you). When you have a grape-sized head such as mine, not just any hat will do. I usually have to settle for cloches or perhaps those mini sailor caps worn by a monkey grinder’s little performer.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” the clerk said, strategically inserting a band of thick foam tape around the circumference of the lining to prevent it from dropping over my eyes and onto the bumpy bridge of my nose. She knew a grape head when she saw it.

The hat fit like a glove, and I was instantly transformed to a time when women rarely left home without a head piece to keep out the dirt and look top drawer.  Think of the many hats that graced our mothers and grandmothers about town: hats to the market, to ladies luncheons, on exotic cruises, at picnics. A time traveling opportunity via the almighty hat.

Each time a new crown and brim is assembled by hand or by some factory machine, a forgotten castaway idles in an attic or on a shelf begging to be reborn.

I was told the work of art was part of milliner Ruth Garland-Dewson’s personal collection, and that she suffered from memory loss and no longer tended to the shop. “See if she’ll sell it to me,” I urged, “or at least loan it for the event.”

I could pick up a little black dress, second hand gloves, grip a martini glass, puff a fake ciggy, and cling to a fella in a fedora. Who cares that I don’t have the 24″ waist for those Mad Men party dresses that cinch like tourniquets? I could pull off the hat and still eat appetizers without busting a seam.

Turned out that for $120, the owner with memory loss forgot she didn’t want to part with the hat. That, or her sales gal deemed it was cool to let it go and make some dough. The cherry on top was the large, pink floral patterned hat box the clerk placed it in. “Are you giving that to me?” I asked, salivating.

“It’s the only thing it will fit into,” she explained.

Cut to the night I wore my hat, or rather, the night my hat wore me. I say that because when hat and I waltzed in, the only competing prop at the event was the fanned, red plumed headdress worn by one of the Vegas showgirl greeters. But seriously, she had at least two other major focal points.

All I know is from the moment I arrived, the hat took on a life of its own, me shepherding it through a red carpeted reception lounge where photographers snapped away and waiters with trays grinned and winked at my crazy head. Then I escorted it through the glitzy, gold curtained auction room where couples examining massive gift baskets and vacation packages gravitated towards us, smitten, uplifted, enamored.

The compliments gushed out as onlookers relayed the same intoxicated sensation that overcame me when I first glanced at the wild thing. Strange men approached, glanced up, gazed into my face, chuckled and uttered, “That’s wonderful!” Martian speak for “What a hat!”

Women, many in impressive late Fifties and early Sixties garb of their own (retro mink stoles from Haight Street, up-dos, foil brocaded shifts and silk pumps), tended to be more expressive. Most of them clearly perceived the Audrey-couture link, while at least three mistakenly equated it with a wardrobe staple of Cruella Deville’s. I couldn’t argue. My hat had been to church and convinced me to bite my tongue.

I  removed my crowning glory only once in five hours to shake my booty since it proved a nuisance to grind to Snoop Dog wrapped in a giant, felted brain-heater.  At home, I kicked off my heels and gently returned my lucky acquisition to her box, stashing it on a ledge in my dressing room. I paused to study myself in the mirror. I had a hideous case of matted hat hair – enhanced by a strip of foam tape stuck to the side of my sweaty bob. I literally peeled the grape.

I’m not sure where me and my Huckleberry hat friend will travel next, but I know I will find another way to let others connect with the flight of fancy vividly emanating from Ruth’s forgotten treasure, and validate what I’ve always suspected: that bygone chic endures as long as we walk the bold walk of the Mrs. Dewsons of the world, proudly picking up where their memory lapses about flaunting remarkable fashion leave off. Nothing about that is old hat.

Images: Sydney Bradley; Paul Todah; Sf Gate

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